free flow, catch some and eat it up

He can read what I am saying,
staring into my eyes.
I can smile forever,
from just hearing his laugh.

Talking for hours, about really nothing at all.
I stop for a second -
no, I’m not a teenager and I can still feel like this.
Do this.
Be me.

Best friends.
Can be lovers.
Seemed like a myth,
too good to be true.

Then he takes me hands,
intertwined in his,
holds me close,
simply wanting to make me smile …

This love is serious,
seriously whole,
and seriously good.

The comfort that comes from only knowing him as a friend,
a love so pure, filled with the utmost respect.
The moment flutters,
screaming that the heart wants what it wants,
or perhaps always what it can’t get.

An abundance of happiness,
followed by the overwhelming state of reality as it hits my face.

His eyebrows are flawed.
Too thin, or was it too thick?
Too dark, definitely too dark.
Also crooked,
a little bit.

We can always just be friends.
Good friends,
the kind that just holds hands.